


and the sugar don't stop

by Hymn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotions, Handcuffs, M/M, bottom!Derek, constipated emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 16:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't that Stiles objected to Derek having a girlfriend. It was just that he objected to Derek having a girlfriend who <i>wasn't him</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the sugar don't stop

**Author's Note:**

> Based, loosely, off of this prompt:  
> Derek/Stiles - future fic  
> We know that one of the Alpha pack is female. Well, what if she sets her sights on Derek? This makes Stiles take notice in a big way but he's sneaky about it. Sabotaging them at every turn but never getting caught doing it. This all leads to a huge confrontation when he is eventually discovered and a Derek/Stiles happy ending.
> 
> It's up to anon whether Derek is into the female alpha or just playing along to get information out of her.

At the Tuesday metting Lydia stood up and rang her salad fork against her crystal champagne flute, because they were at Jackson's and everything he owned was ridiculous. "Silence, peons," Lydia said, "I call to the table the subject of Derek Hale and the Alpha known as A. Hickens, or, as we fondly refer to her, Amelia Who Does Not Fly Planes."

Stiles was the one who discovered Amelia's distaste for planes and flying jokes. His mouth had decided to be smart and had received a solid backhand in response for it. Amelia Who Does Not Fly Planes wore rings. They _hurt_. Stiles said, "I would say any reference I make towards her could not, as a general rule, be considered in any sense of the definition _fond_ , Lydia."

Lydia ignored him, of course.

"The question at large is: does she want to eat Derek Hale, or _eat Derek Hale_."

Isaac made mournful eyes. "I was really enjoying this roast, you know. Jackson, your cook is divine."

"He really is," Jackson said. "I didn't realize it until Stilinski had that bbq and cooked us all steaks. Charlie is a genius, and I got him a raise."

"That's very kind of you, Jackson," Allison said. She smiled that way she smiled at Scott when she was attempting to encourage good behavior. Stiles wondered if it would make Scott jealous; he looked at Scott, who drooped sullenly, and decided that, yes, Scott was really that petty.

"Lydia, my strawberry blonde goddess," Stiles said, "what the hell?"

"I'm saying," Lydia sneered, "that this entire war is going to kill us through prolonged exposure to homocidally flavored unresolved sexual tension."

"No, seriously, _what the hell_."

*

Amelia Who Does Not Fly Planes found him at the coffee shop the next morning, where he was curled around his laptop and nursing a Chai Latte. "Oh no," he said, catching sight of her wicked grin and green eyes and leather bustier, "no, no, no, no, go away."

"Mr. Stillinski," she smirked.

"Are you planning on buying him flowers on your first date? You really should treat him well," Stiles told her grumpily, curling up around his coffee mug. He took solace in the warmth, and the smell, and the fact that they were in a brightly lit, public place, with birds singing outside the floor to ceiling windows. "Derek's a good boy, don't break his heart."

"Oh," she said, pleasantly surprised. "So you already know why I'm here."

Stiles stared at her, eyes wide and horrified. " _No_ ," he repeated, because it bore repeating.

She curled herself companionably into the chair across from him, gently pressed his laptop shut, and said, "I want to lay him out beneath me and wreck him until he falls apart and never comes together again. Where should I take him to dinner first?"

*

"Derek," Stiles said. "Derek. _Derek_ , stop playing possum, you jerkward. Derek. Derek Derek Derek DerekDerekDerek."

"Oh, my god, Stiles, what do you want?" Derek clawed his way out from beneath his camaro in order to give him a frustrated, hunted sort of look. 

Stiles just stared at him for a moment in smug petulance, before asking, "Why did your girlfriend corner me at the coffee shop. Oh my god, why do you do this to me."

Derek stared for a long, blank moment. Then he grunted, and clawed his way back beneath his car. "I don't have a girlfriend," he said.

"Amelia Who Does Not Fly Planes," Stiles said. "We decided it at the meeting on Tuesday, that she wants to eat you, but not like, eat you eat you. More like, you know," he waggled his eyebrows and rolled and ducked his shoulders in a horribly awkward way that made him glad Derek was beneath the car, and could not, in fact, see how stupid Stiles was being, before he lowered his voice and drawled, " _eat you_. And, ew. I am never saying that again. Not, uh, like that, I mean. I can say eat you...actually, no, there is just no good connotation for the phrase eat you, that's it, I'm disowning that phrase. It is no longer allowed to be a part of the Stiles Repertoire of the English Language."

"Stiles," Derek grumbled, "this wouldn't happen to be a deduction made at one of the meetings that you all refuse to invite me to, would it?"

"Yes," Stiles replied. "It is. It's good for us, you know, to have a night Alpha-free, Derek-free, growl-free, emotional-constipation free -"

"Shut up," Derek sighed.

"Never," Stiles said with desolate bravery. "My voice cannot be silenced!"

*

It was kind of obvious to everyone that weekend, of course, when they all met with the Alpha pack for one more round of ridiculous negotiations and ribbing that went no where. Amelia Who Does Not Fly Planes growled and cajoled and pinned Derek against a wall, eyes blood red, and Derek vibrated in her grasp and snarled and his eyes matched hers and Isaac wailed and Scott moaned and Jackson wrinkled his nose and said, "Oh, gross. There is so much sex in the air and their clothes are still on. Jesus."

Stiles said, "What what what, seriously."

*

It wasn't that Stiles objected to Derek having a girlfriend. It was just that he objected to Derek having a girlfriend who _wasn't him_.

*

"Stiles," Derek mumbled, narrowing his hazel eyes at him. He offered the peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich like a horrified peace offering, arm held stiffly at full length, fingers twitching. Stiles frowned at him, and scowled, and made "pshaw" noises at great length, and ultimately took the sandwich.

"Where's my-"

"Here," Derek cut him off. He handed Stiles a carton of chocolate milk, like the kind they served grade schoolers, and Stiles chortled and may have made some strange declaration of maniacal glee, before giving Derek the stink eye over a mouth full of sticky peanut butter and gooey jelly. 

"You're being awfully nice for a sourwolf," he said. "What's the occasion."

Derek's entire face twitched, looking aggrieved. " _You_ \- Stiles," he grated out, the sound of gravel beneath car tires, wood and smoke and whiskey and moonlit nights, "You have been glaring at me for over a week, non stop, no provocation. Even I find that uncomfortable."

"If you can't take the fire," Stiles said, slamming down his carton of chocolate milk ruggedly on the table, "then get the hell out of the kitchen."

Derek looked even more irritated, and maybe even a bit flustered. The tips of his ears were red. He growled, and bit the words off like they cost him something: "Is this about Amelia?"

Stiles said, "Tch. The one that doesn't fly planes? No, not at all. I forgot about her and her rings. Has she fucked you yet?"

Derek jerked, like Stiles had slapped him with a live wire. "What- I. No! No, Stiles, we haven't- _she_ hasn't. We have no relationship, jesus!"

From around the last bite of his sandwich, Stiles said, "You know, that was a bit more of a reaction than I was expecting. I'm suddenly, miraculously thinking, that, ah, perhaps it had something to do with the phrasing?"

Derek was slowly turning red from the collar of his too tight tank top and alllll the way to his hairline.

"No," he said sullenly. "Shut up, Stiles. You're stupid."

"Actually," Stiles said brightly, "I am not stupid, and I will not shut up! Also, you brought me my favorite sandwich and the only perfectly complimentary drink that could possibly go with it which _nobody ever pays attention to_ , so I'm starting to think maybe the reason you're not having a relationship and letting Amelia Who Does Not Fly Planes fuck you is-"

"Bye," Derek says, and is gone.

*

On a run to the convenience store for jerky and air heads, Stiles sees Derek's camaro parked in front of a little Italian place on Grove and Atlas Street. It's the sort of place with tiny tables and tea lights and low lighting, and Stiles parks and walks in and waves the hostess away, saying, "I'm meeting someone."

Derek is at a table with Amelia, and Stiles is so not-pleased that he cannot even attach Who Does Not Fly Planes to her name, fondly or otherwise. 

"Stiles," Derek stutters. 

Amelia's smile is a sickle curve. "Mr. Stillinski."

Stiles purses his lips, considers Amelia's straight shoulders and forest-green eyes and the casual assertiveness of her hands; lingers on Derek's dismayed eyebrows, the flush to his sharp cheekbones, the awkward cant to his chin. He takes a bread stick, dips it into Derek's marinara sauce, and licks it off.

"Have him home by eleven," he says, and ambles away.

*

Back in his jeep, jerky and candy forgotten, Stiles chews on the bread stick. He thinks: Derek was born a beta. And he thinks: Alpha instincts are maybe more like a job for him, but he'll never let on to it. And he thinks: All he had to do was ask.

He realizes: But maybe that's the point.

*

That weekend they have another one of their pow wows. The Alphas aren't satisfied with the control Derek has on the Hale Territory, which is a thin veneer for allowing Amelia to court another Alpha into their midst, and Derek won't deny them outright, which is an even thinner veneer for: I want something I don't know how to have and you're the only ones offering so I can't quite, just yet, turn you down.

Amelia Who Does Not Fly Planes presses up behind Derek when he's mid-conversation with Jacob, an older, gentleman looking Alpha who is obviously laughing at everyone behind his helpful smile. And then Amelia Who Does Not Fly Planes leans around Derek and presses up on her tip toes and darts her tongue a flash of teeth against his neck, and

"Oh, hell no," Stiles says, and stomps right over, heart beating rabbit-fast, angry-fast, in the way it has always thump-thump-thumpity-thumped since he met Derek, since Scott was bitten, since Stiles learned to be afraid and walk forward anyway, and he reached out and grabbed Derek's wrist, and pulled Derek towards him.

It meant something because Stiles wasn't strong enough to make Derek move. Derek had to want to go.

Derek fell forward, tumbling over his feet, and landed against Stiles' shoulder where Stiles had braced himself. They were of a height, Stiles maybe inching along a little taller, and Stiles wrapped one arm around his shoulders, pleased when it looked like it belonged. Amelia narrowed her eyes at him, and Stiles said, "You may not like planes, but you have a better shot at getting one of them to date you than you have at Derek. He doesn't belong to you."

"Mr. Stillinski," Amelia said. "Are you challenging me?"

Stiles could feel Derek shiver against him, and he said, as steady as he could, light hearted and flippant and absolutely certain, because if you believed it enough it was true, or at least, it was true if you were Stiles and it was about Derek and _this_ : "No, I'm not. Because there's nothing to challenge. Derek already belongs to me. He chose to belong to me. He _chose_ , so you can't take him, because he has nothing to give you."

"Shit," Derek said against Stiles' shoulder. "Shut up, Stiles. Jesus. Not in front of the pack."

Stiles snorted, and hemmed and hawed, and Scott was going "What what what what what what Allison shoot me, please baby, please." and Lydia was cackling in a corner somewhere and Jackson radiated disgust and Isaac just sighed, ruined for ever. Stiles said, "Okay, then the pack can leave and the Alpha pack can leave too. Derek, you'll deal with them next week for a conclusion of this lovefest, yes?"

Derek grumbled and said, "Yeah," and turned around and narrowed his eyes at Amelia and all the rest of them. He said yeah not because Stiles told him to, but because Stiles had finally stepped into that one gray area that had been confusing him, and rendered it black and white and clean and safe and _them_ , no outsiders needed, and left Derek without any doubts. Derek was ready to end this, because there was no reason for it to go on.

The pack left and the alpha pack left and it was just Amelia and Stiles and Derek. Stiles still had his thumb pressed against Derek's pulse, which was strong and steady, and Amelia was pouting.

"That is not even fair. Mr. Stillinski, I thought we shared something over coffee that morning. Something meaningful. I thought you were on my side."

Stiles said, "Uh, yeah, no, you split my lip open _with your ring_."

"It was lovely meeting you," Derek said, awkward and shame-faced, with constipated eyebrows. "But it's not going to work out."

Stiles said, "You're really very handsome, for being such a social reject."

*

Derek sat on the edge of the bed, and took his shirt off. "Do you even know what you're doing?" he complained, looking grumpy.

"Not really, no," Stiles said. "But I think most of it will have to do with you, and I'll just do my best to keep up."

Derek sighed, rolling his head back to stare forlornly and with great injustice at the ceiling. Stiles, eyeing the pale length of his throat, settled a hand on his shoulder, leaned in, and scraped his teeth along a tendon there. It made Derek shiver, and arch his back a little, and go "Oh," like he was surprised.

Stiles nipped at the beat of his pulse, chewed along his jaw, and opened his mouth wide and wet to cover as large an expanse of Derek's neck as he could, before biting, hard, and long.

"Oh, _shit_ ," Derek said, like he was surprised, still, but with the added gratification of being pleased, too.

Stiles leaned back, and waggled his eyebrows at Derek. "I told you: I'm really very smart, and I do know how to follow your lead....on occasion."

"Will wonders never cease," Derek said, dryly.

*

Derek liked to roll onto his back and show his belly and bare his throat. "It's just- nice." He managed, one time, to explain to Stiles. "To be able to let go. I was never meant to be Alpha."

"But you are," Stiles said, knuckle deep inside Derek's body, "this doesn't change that fact. Doesn't make you any less. It just makes you _more_."

That time Derek went quiet and sweet, long stretches of his muscled body writhing helplessly beneath Stiles' touch, when usually it was all sharp and straining, push and pull and take and take and take, faster, harder, take me, Stiles, fuck me, _fuck me_. Stiles had said, "You're beautiful, Derek, really, just. Amazing, and perfect, and so lovely. I don't even know how you manage to be so _good_ , when there has been so much bad, but you are, Derek, you are."

Another time, filthier but casual, a lazy weekday night after pizza and bad B-rated movies, with Derek's wrists handcuffed behind his back so his face was pressed cheek to mattress, ass in the air, thighs shoved wide by Stiles knees: "But you just like this too, right? I mean, outside of the emotion, it _feels_ good, you like getting fucked open? Like my fingers up your ass, and my tongue and my cock?"

"Y-yeah," Derek stammered, red eared and squirming, fucked to honesty, "God, yeah, I do. Feels good."

"If you were still a beta," Stiles asked, voice a low murmur against the small of Derek's back, twisting three fingers inside so that Derek's breath hitched, "and you didn't feel a need to submit because you can't any other way, would you still want me to fuck you? If you weren't a werewolf and dominance wasn't a thing, would you still want me inside you as much as you do?"

"Hhn," Derek said, making breathy, punched out noises, desperate and angry all at once. "You asshole," he panted, "Do you really think I would do anything I didn't want to do?"

"Well," Stiles said, "yes."

"Shut up, Stiles, shu- oh god, yes, that, again, harder!" Stiles obliged. "You _idiot_ , I like both! I just happen to like this a bit more, _do you have a problem with that_?"

Stiles caught his lower lip between his teeth, rolled a condom on and slicked up. Pressed up tight with his hands white knuckled on Derek's hips, rolled inside of Derek, stretching his hole out to fit him, in a practiced motion. 

"No," he groaned, "no problem here, no sir, I just. I want you to-"

"I know," Derek moaned. His face was entirely red, he pulled at the handcuffs, shoulders straining with the awkward motion, but he didn't break them, he didn't. He didn't hide his face, achingly open, twisted in a grimace, torn between pleasure and grim embarrassment. "Stiles, Stiles, I _know_."

"Oh," Stiles said, sliding his knees down a little so he could thrust up, just a little more, and hit Derek's prostate. He liked to make Derek come from that alone, never touching his dick, because Derek cursed his way into orgasm, angry and raw, and then he shook afterwards from the live-wire sensation of it. "Oh, good," Stiles said. "Because I really, really do."

"I know I know I know, if you don't shut up I'll tear off your face, Stiles, _put your back into it_ , yes, like that! Like that, like that, oh fuck, Stiles, I love you, too."

Surprised, Stiles slammed his hips into Derek, harder than he'd meant to, and Derek choked on a moan, or a howl, or an expletive; his eyes were wide, too, and face slack with shock, and then they were both coming, and wow. 

Wow.

**Author's Note:**

> One of these days I'll figure out how to write these two correctly. Angels will sing, fireworks will explode in the sky, it'll be _great_. Until then, have this. I will maybe edit it tomorrow, WE WILL SEE.


End file.
